Tempest
by Ceasefire
Summary: [HavocRoy fluff] They'd found a new source of comfort during storms.


Shameless fluff. What could be better? I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

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Even as a small child, before he learned to control flames with alchemy, Roy Mustang had hated storms. His older sisters had teased him for putting his pillow over his head to escape from the flashes of lightning, for jumping whenever thunder crashed. When his father had returned home from the office, he immediately found Roy clinging to his leg and shivering while his sisters giggled from the landing up the stairs. His father had sighed, grinned and ruffled Roy's dark hair fondly.

"Nothing to worry about, Roy. It's just the clouds having a party."

"A birthday party?" the three-year-old boy responded.

"Something like that," the older man grinned, "Come on, time for you to go to bed."

"Too noisy."

"It'll calm down soon."

It was a little easier to sleep without his sisters giggling at his fear, but Roy never liked storms even after he grew up, thought not for the same reasons.

Jean Havoc's early experiences with storms weren't much better. His mother had once told Roy that one time, on a stormy night while his father was out trying to protect their store's goods, Jean had toddled out of his bed in his blue jumpsuit ("It matched his eyes," the older woman recalled fondly, while Jean blushed), scared of the loudness of the thunder and bright lightning flashes, having been unaccustomed to storms due to the arid environment of their town. His mother had hoisted him into her lap, put her arms around him and told him stories of when she was a child, and floods had come to the West where she had lived before marrying Jean's father. Jean had listened, wide-eyed with wonder until he'd fallen asleep, curled up in his bunny rug. He'd totally forgotten about the storm.

"He used to look forward to our little stories," Jean's mother smiled, "I remember once, when I was bathing him, he was playing one of them out with his rubber duck..."

"Ma!" Jean exclaimed, blushing when Roy smirked at him.

Now, during storms, they had a new source of comfort. It was nice to step into Roy's apartment with cold, damp cloth clinging making their skin prickle from the chill, and have an excuse to strip down to the skin even though their skin was still prickling from the acute, natural anticipation of the next strike of lightning, preceding the rumble of the thunder.

Silently, they make their way into Roy's bedroom and crawl under cool white sheets too worn to keep them warm, even with the thin woollen blanket over their bodies and shoulders. It wasn't a matter of lacking anything warmer, but it was good when Jean tugged Roy into his embrace and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, holding his close and teasingly brushing freezing cold toes against Roy's calves and ankles.

"Stop it," Roy complained, leaning in to nip at Jean's neck as the blond man and jumping as another lightning flash turned Jean's pale skin almost white, "You're feet are damn cold."

"No can do," Jean grinned and tugged Roy on top of him, "Unless you want to warm me up."

Roy shivered at the next flash of lightning, and Jean chuckled.

"Don't be such a sook, Roy."

"I'm not," Roy snapped, moaning softly as Jean pulled the dark-haired man down flat against his chest and ran his tongue around the shell of Roy's ear, "You're distracting me quite pleasantly."

"You still jump whenever the lightning flashes," Jean grinned, "Come on, the storm is almost over. Don't be a wimp, Boss."

"I'm not," Roy purred, crawling over Jean's body to press a kiss to his lips. Jean eagerly accepted the kiss and brushed his fingers gently down Roy's back.

"You're shivering again," Jean whispered when they had parted.

"That's nothing to do with cold or fear," Roy smirked, his face inches from Jean's and dark eyes glinting with mischief.

Jean smiled and rocked forward, pressing his lips to Roy's and wrapping his arms around his lover; careful, gentle, powerfully possessive.

"Don't worry, I won't let you get cold. And I won't let the scary storm get you, either."

Roy grinned.

"Smart ass."

"All for you, Roy."

Roy nodded against Jean's chest and shut his eyes, and Jean was almost amused to think that Roy was still like a little kid, scared of storms. By the time Roy's soft breath had evened out to soft, whiffling snores that brushed across Jean's collarbone, warm and soft and comforting, the storm had ended.


End file.
